Stranger things have happened. Like Paul shutting him in a bathroom and sucking his brains out of his dick.
Ace gave a full-body shudder at the memory. He couldn’t believe that the man who first fucked him senseless then coolly acted like they had never met would ever drop to his knees and turn him to pudding with his tongue like that.
A swirl of black and white by his feet brought his mind back to the present. Lola was rubbing a flank against his jeans, marking him with feline scent.
Speaking of scent, Ace could tell he was pretty ripe from all that manual labor.
Step one: bath. Extra bubbles. And a bottle of moscato. Stat.
Ace left Lola to its own devices while he lounged in his restored claw foot tub upstairs until the lavender bubbles had disappeared and the water had gone irrevocably cold. The bottle of sweet white wine was half gone, and he could see his tension drain with the cooling bathwater.
As he dried off, he called his favorite Chinese delivery place for his usual order. He decided not to get dressed, knowing he was just going to bed not long after eating. He hoped answering the door in only a robe wouldn’t seem too lascivious.
He slipped into a perfectly worn, soft, baby blue robe and plopped down on the couch. Lola immediately took up residence on his lap.
“You’re affectionate tonight,” Ace murmured as he stroked her back. “I suppose everybody needs a friendly touch now and then.”
Or one that’s something other than friendly. Like scorching. A scorching touch every now and then does the trick, too.
He thought about turning on the TV for some white noise, but the stuff they showed on Saturday night didn’t even qualify as good white noise. So he contented himself with petting a purring cat, relishing Lola’s rare acquiescence to such domesticity.
Sooner than he expected, the doorbell rang. He snagged his wallet from the entryway table.
“Wow, that was quick,” he said as he swung the door open. The rest of his words died in his mouth, which dropped open at the sight of his visitor.
Paul. All six-foot-three of him filled his doorway. He had obviously showered and changed after his day at Steven’s, too, and Ace was hit with the clean, irresistible scent of his soap and shampoo. The smell brought to mind images of Paul in the shower, bubbles and water running down his body. Ace felt his dick twitch under his loose robe.
“Hey,” Paul said in that ought-to-be-illegal voice. “You left this behind.” He held up Ace’s clippers from the yard work.
“Oh,” Ace said intelligently. He couldn’t command his muscles to move. He was keenly aware of how naked he was under the robe. “Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s no trouble,” Paul said easily. He slowly trailed his gaze up and down Ace’s body, and Ace felt it like a physical caress.
“So,” Paul drew out expectantly. “Can I come in?”
Ace blinked to clear his brain. “Sure. Yeah.” He stepped back to let him in. Paul brushed against him on his way through the door.
He closed the door and tried to collect himself. This is fine. He’s returning a garden tool. He doesn’t fuck within a hundred miles of his home. Except, you know, in his brother’s bathroom.
Ace didn’t know whether to jump him or kick him.
“Your place is, uh, not what I expected,” Paul said slowly, taking in the color explosion that was Ace’s living room.
“What were you expecting then?” Something less gay?
Paul shrugged. “Something like what you did at Steven’s, I guess. I figured that was your style.”
“My personal style doesn’t usually have much to do with the houses I stage,” Ace said. “I would never recommend anyone do their home like mine if they’re trying to sell it. But I’m not trying to sell this place.”
“It looks like you wanted to use all the colors in the big box of crayons,” Paul said.
Ace looked around at the cacophony of disparate artwork, the collection of mismatched furniture, the deep jewel toned walls.
“Well, some of those poor colors never get played with at all,” he said lightly. “I was trying to be equal opportunity.”
Paul turned to him and smiled, a genuine sweet smile, and Ace’s breath caught. He was back on the roller coaster. Away from anyone else’s eyes, Paul felt like perfect sexy boyfriend material. Around other people, though, Paul felt like –
Cameron. Fuck.
Ace would not go through that again. Can’t let this one in, he decided.
No matter how damn good it felt when he was inside.
“I like it,” Paul decided.
Huh. Not what Ace expected.
“This room looks really, um, comfortable,” Paul said, looking at the artfully stuffed living room.
“That was the goal,” Ace said, crossing to the other side of the room. “The fireplace is the best part, especially in the damn Kansas winter.”
“Not used to that, huh?”
“Not after a few years in Atlanta,” Ace said. “Last winter was a rude awakening. I camped out here with a big fire every night. Spent all my money on firewood.”
Paul’s eyes grew warm. “Sounds cozy.”
Ace fought a flush. Why the hell am I telling him all this? It’s not like he’s going to cuddle with me on the sofa.
Nope. Paul was strictly a closet guy. Or a back room guy.
“So,” Ace drew out. “Garden tool delivery complete. Thank you for that.” He rocked on his heels, not sure what to expect or do next. “You know, you really didn’t need to go out of your way for my hedge trimmers.”
Paul made a scoffing sound. “We’re practically neighbors.”
“Oh? What part of town do you live in?”
“Camden Woods. I have a condo there.”
“Really? I would have thought Park Hill for a doctor.”
Paul made a face. “Too much work.”
“What? Walking up the hill?”
“Taking care of one of those old houses.”
“Hmm. Low maintenance really is your mission statement, isn’t it?”